Lapse
by riesling
Summary: Full Summary Inside // This just an attempt to explain Heihachi's personality throughout the series, his relationships with others, and some of the mystery surrounding him. Romance: rating to be safe! Kazyua's Mother OC and Heihachi! // Please R&R!
1. Histories and Secrecies

**Summary:** With the arranged marriage of his only son determined, Jinpachi Mishima has successfully prepared himself a worthy legacy. Now if only his damnable son would appreciate the wonderful life he's just ensured for him, things could travel on down their necessary path and Jinpachi might even be able to enjoy himself a few grandchildren before he kicks the proverbial bucket. But things never really work out the way that you might have planned them. And that begs the question, will Heihachi fall in love with his pretty wife, Akimo, so that they can live happily ever after? Or will the future have even more terrible things in store for the Mishima Men?

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**Author's Note:** Has anyone ever wondered why Heihachi is such a hateful, terrible person throughout the Tekken series? I've decided to offer my own humble opinions on this travesty, hopefully explaining at least one possibility of why he is the way that he is. Please read and review this first chapter; I'm finishing it regardless of the number of reviews, so no worries, but I do very much love your input! I've had this story on my mind for damn near four years so I hope it drives you as crazy for an update as it's driven me to be written!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Tekken, the characters, franchise, series, movies (because there are two now, you know), or (arguably) much of the merchandise. I'd like to just borrow the setting and characters for a bit!

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**Histories and Secrecies**

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Akimo was the third daughter of Mr. Numoya. He was a man blessed enough to have been born into a family of noble blood and this fortune he passed on to his three beautiful daughters. Though the times of samurai knights and nobility were long forgotten memories of his boyhood, mere stories he remembered from his grandfather, Mr. Numoya was not one to be forgotten by the elite in society. He understood the importance of appearances towards his good fortune, the kind that old family friends could ensure remained in the safe keeping of his legacy. And Mr. Numoya was well-versed in the secrecies and blackmail of words needing to be kept in confidence, hidden away from the old world; before the damned war that had torn Japan apart.

It wasn't a surprise that he had come out on the top of society after reconstruction. He'd ensured that his pretty wife and their three very young daughters had been well-protected during the war by moving them to the countryside. There, in a small village, far enough removed from the map to be considered a suburb of Tokyo, he raised his family during the great war that was to become World War II.

Mr. Numoya ensured that there were few luxuries denied to his family in that vast countryside and that he would never be taken too far away from them. And he knew that his family was happy. He knew his daughters were tutored by some of the finest minds in Japan, students that had been forced to drop out of the prestigious Tokyo University by the onslaught of war. But, inevitably, he knew that they wouldn't stay in that small little village forever.

But it doesn't much matter what, exactly, Mr. Numoya had to do to protect his family. All that really matters is that he did and those three young daughters of his grew up to be strong, proud, confident young women. The type that he could be proud to show off to society; the type of daughters that only Mr. Numoya could be expected to raise.

Akimira, his oldest daughter, was nineteen by the time that the war ended, and quite past a reasonable age to be wed. It was decided that she, the wisest of his daughters, would be married to a wealthy factory owner. Her future husband was wise in the ways of business and knew how to negotiate with the American scum that found their way into Japan with intentions to reconstruct everything in an image of their own beautiful homeland. But they were married in the fall, despite the presence of the Americans. And it was a beautiful wedding centered on the burnt oranges and scarlet reds of the season. The weather was slightly crisp with the warmth of August still hanging in the air.

Akira, Mr. Numoya's second daughter, was quiet and soft-spoken. She spent most of her time with her head in a book, though not the type of educational tool that her sister, Akimira might have enjoyed. Akira much preferred romance to practicality and, despite her parents' best wishes for her; she ran away with an American soldier and wasn't heard from again. She was the shame of the family and nothing could console the poor father who hated the American Pig for his simple presence in the beautiful land of Japan.

Nothing could save Mr. Numoya from such shame, until an interesting proposal of marriage arrived for his youngest daughter, Akimo.

Jinpachi Mishima sent a young servant girl to the residence of the Numoya family on a crisp, gray afternoon just after the beginning of January. Her cheeks were slightly rosy from the walk, but her clothes were nice enough to hide the fact that she was a rather plain girl. The note had been pinned to her kimono, as though whoever had decided upon her thought she would lose it if allowed to carry the document in her hand. She looked positively terrified when Akimo opened the door and even worse for wear when she was invited inside and left to stand alone in the entry way while Mr. Numoya was fetched from his study.

She looked rather terrified to be standing in front of Mr. Numoya, not that he was anything as fearful to look at as her master, Jinpachi. But the girl introduced herself to Mr. Numoya as Tamaya and thought it necessary to add that she had been sent by the Mishima family.

"Yes, I see," he sounded exasperated, snatching the note from her outstretched fingers as though it were a piece of garbage that had been placed in front of him. As though he had been repulsed by it. He murmured something else that Tamaya couldn't quite understand, but she decided it better not to ask.

Cowering, Tamaya let her attention focus on the pretty girl that had answered the door for her. She'd heard rumors about Mr. Numoya's youngest daughter, that she was one of the most beautiful women in Tokyo. Tamaya had never seen such a beautiful woman, sure, but she determined that somewhere in that large city there must have been someone more beautiful. But, when she stepped from the shadows and into the light to stand next to her aging father, Tamaya felt her breath catch in her throat and her eyes scan the ground with such a renewed interest that she'd actually gotten the attention of the other young woman.

"You must be terribly cold," she reached her pale hand out from inside her own kimono to comfort the rather frightened maid in front of her. But her voice was full of warmth and kindness that seemed such a stark contrast to everything about the home in which she had just entered. Taking the young servant by her hand, Akimo led her deeper into the house, towards one of the minor sitting rooms. "Please come inside and warm yourself by the fire."

Deciding it necessary to take one more glance at the girl, Tamaya looked up and studied Akimo's figure as she was led towards the burning fireplace. The girl moved with such unmistakable grace that Tamaya wondered if she might have been floating through air. She blushed when the radiant face of Akimo turned to her, offering her a cup of tea and a silk pillow to rest on as she sat in front of the fire. Akimo, dressed in a silk kimono of a design much more elaborate than Tamaya's own, had already taken a seat next to her and was helping herself to a glass of tea.

Tamaya was utterly speechless as she watched the fire dance in radiant beams of light through Akimo's midnight black hair. It contrasted with the lavender and grey shades of her kimono, but matched the slightly rosy tint high on her cheekbones. Her skin was smooth, fair like porcelain. And her eyes; they were the most striking shade of deep sapphire blue that Tamaya had ever seen. It wasn't until the warmth of the tea seeped outwards from the glass and onto her fingers that the servant girl remembered her manners, "T-thank you, Lady Numoya. Thank you for your kindness!"

Her voice was small, almost frightened, but Akimo managed a laugh. It was a beautiful, crystalline sound that seemed to echo through the dark corners of the room and light them up radiantly. But it was a laugh as kind as her voice, "Lady Numoya is my honored mother. You may call me Akimo, if you wish."

They finished the rest of their tea in silence before Mr. Numoya returned to the room with a piece of paper of his own. Akimo could clearly see the delicate characters spelling out the name Mishima. It was tied with a red ribbon, the trademark of her father's penmanship. He wanted to impress this Mr. Mishima. But Akimo didn't need to ask questions to figure out why. Sure, she was only eighteen years old, but that didn't mean that it was completely out of the question that suitors might have been asking for her hand in marriage already; her eldest sister had been married for three years already and Akira wasn't coming home any time soon. About her father's desire to impress? That had everything to do with her runaway sister, Akira.

Little did Akimo know, her marriage was the subject of her father's most careful and precious concerns. The effects of her sister's actions on the family had taken a toll on her father that even his close family members couldn't quite understand. Mr. Numoya wanted his youngest daughter married well, to a man whose social status surpassed even his own. The shame that Akira had brought to the family was irreparable else wise. And Mr. Numoya wanted her married rich, so that perhaps his future son-in-law might take pity on his poor wife's parents 

and save them from the debt collectors knocking on their doors. To have his eldest daughter, Akimira, married to a man of her husband's status had cost him a considerable dowry. And he hadn't much left for his youngest daughter.

He prayed that Jinpachi's son found his daughter to be as beautiful and charming as her other suitors did; her poorer suitors.

But Mr. Numoya didn't let his facial expression change at all as he placed the parchment in Tamaya's trembling hands. He didn't need to warn the girl that consequences would be had if she didn't return to the Mishima household quickly and without delay. Tamaya knew more of Mr. Numoya's situation than she had let on; and if she knew, that meant the Mishima's knew.

He watched her from his window until she faded away in the direction of downtown Tokyo, the portion that had been rebuilt and was soon to be the home of the Mishima Financial Empire. They were a rich, powerful family. And Mr. Numoya wanted his youngest daughter married to the Empire's only heir, Heihachi Mishima.

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	2. The Gift of Trepidation

**Author's Note:** So, after overwhelming support for my last chapter, I've decided to update. A whopping five people read this story and, assuming they actually read the chapter and didn't accidentally click on it, no one reviewed or gave me any feedback. I decided to update this story anyway, hoping that maybe dedication would inspire you all to read! Anyway, I know that Heihachi hasn't made his way into this story quite yet, but for right now the important focus is on Akimo. I promise he will make an appearance within the next few chapters.

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**The Gift of Trepidation**

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The gifts came with relative frequency, arriving in brown packaging, wrapped with silk ribbon, addressed in red ink. They were normally small packages, as they contained gifts of jade, chocolate, pearls, hair pins, and other relatively small trinkets. He sent them with different servants, normally female, though a few men found their way to the Numoya doorstep with the lovely gifts meant for Akimo.

They arrived mostly in the afternoon, sometime between lunch and tea, and the Numoya servants would accept the gifts most respectfully, calling for Lady Akimo. She would open the packages with her mother there to oversee her, as it was not respectful to accept the gifts without the blessings of one of her honored parents. And she would thank the servants a thousand times over, writing a small note for them to take back to her most persistent suitor.

As the days turned to weeks and her collection of trinkets grew, Akimo could feel her heart growing heavier as the weight of the gifts amassed in her bedroom. She knew in her heart that this was the man she would marry, whether that knowledge sat well in her stomach or not. Akimo did not get a say in choosing who her future husband would be. She did not have an opinion as to which of her suitors she most adored. She was forced to sit in the main entertainment room of her home every afternoon and open the lovely gifts that were sent to her by Heihachi Mishima.

There was never a note. There was never a message from him. Only a gift in brown paper tied with silk ribbon and addressed in careful, precise characters.

Until one afternoon there arrived no gift at all.

Akimo was sitting by the window in her bedroom, reading one of the many books that her sister had left. It was a certain novel that she knew her father would have taken away from her, as he thought it had instilled corrupt ideas in her sister's mind and would have allowed his youngest daughter not even a glance inside its pages. But Akimo was not focused on the words her eyes were skimming, instead, she was watching for a familiar servant walking down the street with a small brown parcel in his arms. But her eyes had found no one and, when a servant of her father came to call her down for tea, her heart fell in her chest.

It wasn't the small trinket that she looked forward to every day. No, Akimo was not a spoiled girl, as most in her position would have been. Her time living in an isolated village during the war had taught her all she needed to know about taking care of herself; it wouldn't have been fair to say that she really relied all that much on the servants that her family kept. But Akimo looked forward, every day, to the possibility that Heihachi Mishima might send her a note, something that would identify him as more than just an interested suitor.

Disappointed, Akimo made her way to the sitting room where she met her mother every afternoon for tea. If the emotion had been expressed on any of her delicate features, it was hidden in the deep shade of her lovely sapphire eyes. She entered the room, finding not only her mother but her father, as well. It was rare that he would take tea with the two women, though it wasn't completely unheard of. On that day, his presence brought a smile to her face and she took the seat beside him, rather than her normal seat, across from her mother. There was silence as the tea was served and Akimo felt as though a great weight was pressing down upon her chest. A tension was present that had been building for days, though hadn't been addressed by anyone around them.

Mr. Numoya was the one to eventually break the silence. He gazed down at the steaming glass of tea in front of him, running his strong fingers over the smooth porcelain surface of the tea service before finally letting his deep brown eyes meet his youngest daughter's, "You have only grown more beautiful as these last ten years have passed us by, Akimo-hime. You're beautiful like your mother."

She smiled at him, remembering how he'd used to call her that when she was younger. Things had seemed so different then, when she was still young enough to run into his arms when he would return from work. 

But she was older now, and much more aware of how things had changed between them. Lowering her eyes from his, she tried to pretend she didn't know what he was going to tell her, "Thank you, father. I am most honored to be your daughter, for you have blessed me with so many things."

"Then please think of this as another blessing, my daughter," he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers, feeling the warmth of her skin. He waited until she had lifted her eyes to meet his once more before he took a deep breath and continued, "Heihachi Mishima has asked for your hand in marriage. I know that this might not have been the arrangement you most desire but your mother and I want to be sure that you're well cared for when we are both gone. And the Mishimas are more than capable of caring for you."

Akimo looked over to her mother, feeling her heart catch in her throat. Her breath, and with it any ability to speak, seemed to have been lost to her. Instead of speaking, she cleared her throat, blinking a few times, and took a sip of the tea in front of her.

She knew nothing of Heihachi Mishima. Months of sending her gifts and accepting her thank-you's had revealed nothing to the beautiful young woman about the man who was to become her honored husband. Akimo might have dreamed of marrying a perfect samurai, someone handsome and strong, someone willing to love her, cherish her, honor her, but she knew that these desires were completely impractical. Her parents had not met one another until their wedding day and they had been happily married for twenty five years. Heihachi might not have been the man that she had dreamed of marrying, but she would agree to marry him for her parent's sake.

What her father had said was true. They wouldn't be there to take care of her forever and if this, they thought, was something they trusted to be a smart match for her, Akimo would do as they wished. She would agree to marry the man who had been most persistent in his courting of her. She would accept Heihachi's proposal, even though she knew nothing about the man.

Akimo was going to be Mrs. Mishima.

She tried to smile when she repeated the name over and over again in her mind. But she couldn't bring herself to do so. It was almost painful for her to accept her parents' wishes and she wondered if her older sisters had felt this same way.

"Akimo," her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, looking at her daughter with concern. "I know that, perhaps, you find this news unexpected, but certainly it doesn't surprise you. Heihachi has been courting you for months, it seems."

"No, mother," Akimo finally spoke. "This news is not surprising so much as it is sudden. But if you and father have found me a suitable match, I cannot decline. It would be my honor to follow your wishes."

She bowed her head slightly and there was silence for a long while.

"My daughter," Mr. Numoya spoke, letting his posture soften slightly. This always meant that he wanted to be candid with his daughter, they were family and, in some cases, there was no need for formality. He smiled, "You are my youngest daughter and, though I knew that someday I would have to give you over to another man, I had hoped that this day would not have come so soon. Even though Heihachi may not be your first choice of suitors, your mother and I would not wish for you to marry a man whom we did not know would take care of you."

"Father, it is an honor to marry a man of Heihachi's status," she smiled, trying to reassure both of her parents that she was as satisfied with the decision as they were. Or perhaps she had smiled to convince herself of that. "I will atone for the actions of Akira, father. I know what pain her loss has caused this family and, if marrying Heihachi could ease that pain, even slightly, I will do it without question."

He stood up from his place at the small table quickly and Akimo feared that she might have upset him. Mr. Numoya hurried to the doorway, excusing himself with a bow to the two lovely women left behind, "I will go ahead with the preparations, then, Akimo."

She smiled weakly, watching him go.

The servant who had carried Akimo's acceptance of Heihachi's proposal to the Mishima family was back before the Numoya's dinner was served that same evening.

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	3. Her Samurai Knight

**Author's Note:** This story really isn't as popular as some of the other stories that I'm currently working on but this is one of my favorites. I love the direction that I know I will be taking this story and I want to thank everyone that has read this piece. I want to thank **DEGxMDM **for being the first and only person to review this story. Unfortunately, Kazuya won't be making his appearance for a bit longer than a little while, but keep reading. I promise you will not be disappointed. Keep reading, even if you don't care to leave a review; I will finish this story because it just feels right. I would love to have the support of a few readers, but DEGxMDM, you've encouraged me to update. And for that, I thank you most sincerely. Also, I want to apologize if this chapter is a bit too long for your liking; I had no decent place to break it into two. I think you'll be pleased with it, however! So let me know what you have to say.

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**Her Samurai Knight**

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It was only a few weeks after Akimo had accepted Heihachi Mishima's proposal that spring began to warm through the late winter chill and the landscape began to come alive, again. With the lovely amethyst and fuchsia blooms peeking up from around the elaborate gardens in the back yard of her family's home, Akimo began to grow hopeful for the marriage she was soon to enter. Having everything spring to life around her only served to make the lovely young woman less content to dwell on her negative thoughts about the matter. Her parents really did want what was best for her and, after eighteen wonderful years under their care, Akimo knew that it was time for her to have a husband of her own to honor.

She lowered her gaze to the reflection pond beneath her feet and the wooden sandals beside the grassy edge. It had been years since she had removed her shoes in the garden, but the day was clear with a crisp, fresh breeze that made Akimo feel exhilarated and full of life. It made her feel like she was just a child again, waiting for her father to return home from work so that she could tell him all of the trivial details of her day.

But Akimo knew the truth; that she wasn't a little girl. And she had come to accept the fact that these few weeks leading up to her wedding day were the last few of her adolescence.

Her sapphire eyes shined back at her from the depths of the pond and she studied her reflection for a moment with more interest than she had shown herself in a long time. Her long, dark hair was pulled away from her face and secured with one of the lovely pink clips that she had been sent by her intended husband some many weeks ago. Her high cheekbones were slightly rosy from the minor chill in the air and her lips shined with a cherry-red color that was less than natural. Her kimono, while not spectacular in its own right, looked lovely with its lavender color against Akimo's silky skin. And the small white and maroon flowers woven in silk throughout the garment were less spectacular than the lovely young woman who wore it.

"Akimo-chan!"

The voice was still slightly far away, somewhere deep inside of the house and Akimo knew that it wouldn't take very long before she was found outside by the pond. She bit her lower lip for a moment, quickly sliding her delicate feet into their appropriate stockings and shoes, lest she be caught in such a compromising position.

"Akimo-chan! Where are you?" it was her mother and she was much closer now. The young woman in the courtyard could hear the exasperated tone that the older woman had taken. She understood very well that it was impatience that brought her mother to searching with such vigor. "Darling, you're going to be late!"

"Yes, mama," Akimo answered, her voice smooth and even. It was a lovely sound, coming from the courtyard gardens of the large estate her family owned; it was spring embodied in a single tone. It was music coming from silence. It was light coming from darkness. And Akimo hurried towards the doorway where her mother was waiting for her. "I'm coming."

"Oh, you certainly do look lovely," the older Numoya woman cooed over her youngest daughter for a moment, offering her a kind smile before running a hand over the smooth ebony locks of hair that fell over Akimo's shoulders. There was a look that bordered somewhere between regret and longing Mrs. Numoya's eyes as she continued, "Your sister has been looking forward to seeing you so, dearest."

Akimo stepped by her mother, placing a hand on her shoulder and offering the woman a kind smile before hurrying through the house, "I can hardly wait to see her, either." There was excitement in her voice, though she was able 

to mask the emotion and sound as mature as he mother might have liked to believe she was. She was in front of the main entrance to her home before she knew it and her mother was standing beside her with a benevolent look in her eyes that showed more of her happiness than she could speak.

"Are you really sure you wish to walk, darling?"

"Yes, mama," Akimo laughed, touching one of her delicate fingers to her lower lip for a moment in an attempt to cover a smile. She blinked her sapphire eyes in an attempt to find the sunlight that seemed to have disappeared somewhere on her trip through the house and was grateful for her mother's concern. It did look as though it might rain, but Akimo had had her heart set on a walk through the market since the faintest beginnings of spring had swept through the country. She took her mother's hand in her own and their eyes met before Akimo spoke again, "I'll be fine; I promise not to take my time and to hurry on my way to Akimira."

With a bit of a frown on her face, Mrs. Numoya took a deep breath and reached for a dark black parasol from beside the doorway and handed it to Akimo, "At least take this with you. And please don't walk home if it is after dark when you leave Akimira's home."

"Of course, mama!"

With a few quick steps and an umbrella over her shoulder, Akimira made her way down the street without looking back to her home. Her mother really did worry over her more than was necessary sometimes. But the lack of sunshine did put a bit of a damper on Akimo's desire to walk across the marketplace to her sister's home.

She took a deep breath and quickened her pace slightly, wondering how she could have missed so much of the reconstruction in only one short season. It had seemed unlikely to the young woman that there would have been much completed with the heavy winter snows and yet, as she walked, she hardly recognized the sights as she passed them. There was a genuine smile on her face as she made her way towards the market and it was pure bliss to be out of her home for a few hours that afternoon.

As she passed by on the streets, some of the workers would pause from the buildings they were working to repair and whistle their appreciation to the lovely young woman. Although a woman as beautiful as she was might have been used to such attention, the whistles and seductive words only served to cause a flush of red to rise to the lovely girl's cheeks and send her beautiful eyes straight to the ground. It was in instances like those that she was glad for the slight sprinkling of rain that had begun to fall and she gratefully opened up her umbrella to hide underneath from both the wet and the men.

It was on one such passing that she'd left her eyes on the ground for a bit longer than she should have and had accidentally wandered into the broad shoulders of an American soldier. Her small frame had only brushed against him, but the sudden contact had caused him to drop an arm full of papers he had been carrying.

"Gomen nasai!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and a flush appearing on her cheeks, as she quickly rushed to help him pick up the papers she had caused him to drop.

But Akimo was surprised to feel a strong hand on her shoulder and hear angry words she couldn't quite understand. She quickly looked up at the infuriated face of the soldier, his eyes were a most hideous shade of green and Akimo couldn't say that she had ever seen anyone with yellow hair before, but she drew in a shaky breath and stumbled backwards despite herself. His hand was still gripping her shoulder rather strongly, however, and he shoved her backwards quickly, speaking words she did understand, "Kusu o taberu na, busu!"

Akimo cried out, feeling body falling backwards while she had absolutely no control over herself was a very uncomfortable feeling. And the pain she felt in her ankle was simply astonishing as she bit her lower lip to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks.

Before she had the time to react to the situation any further, however, there was a rather strong looking man standing between her and the American soldier. They were yelling at each other once more in the same language the soldier had been speaking to Akimo, but the words fell dead on her ears. She could understand them no more than she was able to see the face of the man that was her rescuer.

It wasn't long before the yelling became more physical, however, and two of the American soldier's friends joined Akimo's attacker in an attempt to gang up on the Japanese man who was separating the men from her. With wide eyes, Akimo looked on in horror as she was sure that this kind man who had tried to protect her was about to be injured.

He proved her wrong, however, by landing an extremely powerful punch to the first man's stomach. Then he spun around quickly, landing a powerful kick to one of the yellow-haired man's companions. The man in front of her was moving so fast she could have sworn that his movements were like lightning. And the fight was over before it had really even begun. There were four injured American soldiers lying on the ground when the young man turned around and knelt in front of Akimo.

Their eyes met and it was as though time stood still.

"Are you alright, miss?"

His voice, a deep baritone, broke through the silence and caused Akimo's breath to catch in the back of her throat. His hair, as dark as her own, was slicked backwards and away from his face, exposing smoothly tanned skin and kind dark brown eyes. A few short wisps of his soft hair fell towards his forehead and Akimo imagined that it had more to do with how quickly he had been moving a moment before than the rain that was still sprinkling lightly around them. Akimo was completely taken by the man in front of her.

He had protected her from the unforgiving American soldier.

He might have just saved her life.

Her voice was weak when she finally managed, "Y-yes, sir. Th-thank you… for helping me."

He frowned, taking her left ankle into one of his strong hands and removing the wooden sandal from her foot. He pressed lightly on the inside of her ankle and she blinked up at him in response. It was awkward for the young woman to have a strange man touching such an intimate part of her as an ankle, especially when he hadn't given her much of a warning at all that he was—

"Ouch!" she protested with a gasp. Akimo bit her lower lip when the man's concerned eyes met hers; she felt slightly ashamed that she should be complaining about a small pain in her foot when her fate could have been so much worse had it not been for this man and his kindness.

He smiled slightly, hoping that a bit of fun might calm her nerves a bit, before returning the wooden sandal to her foot, "You know, I'll never understand why women insist on wearing such excessive footwear. Don't you know it's dangerous if you lose your balance?"

She was speechless for a moment, shocked that he could joke at a time like this, but comforted by his attempts to make her smile all the same. "Well, I-"

Akimo stopped, feeling her heart rush to her throat when his strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and lifted her from the ground. He had done it so quickly that she hadn't had much of an opportunity to protest but there was a look in his eyes that calmed her slightly and encouraged her not to protest. So Akimo rested her right arm over his strong shoulder and waited for him to explain what he was doing.

"Where were you headed on this dreary day, lady?"

"To Lady Natsuyo's residence," she paused, finding herself lost in his deep eyes once again. Akimo wondered if one always got such a feeling when being held so close to the body of another; it was like running through fresh grass barefooted, like the wind through your hair and the sun shining down on you from above. It was a feeling that made her heart race. It was a feeling that made her forget what feeling really was, after all. It was… like nothing she had ever imagined. "Natsuyo-kun of Nagoya, Morimoto, and Natsuyo Electric. Lady Natsuyo is my honored sister."

Raising an eyebrow slightly at the pretty young woman in his arms, the handsome man couldn't help but let a small smile escape him as he realized just who this woman was. It was a genuine smile, kind and honest and it 

comforted Akimo immensely, "Then we should hurry, Miss Numoya. I know Lady Natsuyo isn't patient when left waiting." He winked at her, heading in the direction of her sister's residence.

Of course Akimo found it puzzling that he knew her name, but she thought it rude to ask questions of her rescuer and was content to the silence that had settled over them. Her father was a rather important socialite; perhaps this man was rather high-ranking in class, as well. It didn't matter much to her, though. Once she reached her sister's residence, she would be safe from those horrifying American soldiers and she could be sure that this man was well thanked for his kindness.

Akimo was interrupted from her thoughts by his strong voice, "Your eyes are really very beautiful."

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	4. The Great Disappointment

**Author's Note:** Have you figured out whom Akimo's savior was in the last chapter? If you have, I applaud you; without actually using his name, I wanted you all to know who that was… but if you're still in the dark, this will be the chapter that reveals his identity and sets up for the rest of the story! From this point on, there will be more of the canon characters!

Also, I would like to send a special 'thanks' to **AgatHatsumomo** for leaving a kind review full of encouragement. So, it is for you, Hatsumomo, that this chapter is respectfully dedicated.

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**The Great Disappointment**

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There had been the expected amount of hustle and bustle once the kind man had returned Akimo to her sister's residence. The servants had rushed around for a while, searching for Akimira, perhaps, and the rain continued to pour around the two shivering figures in the doorway; but eventually they were let inside and led to a room where they were able to warm themselves in front of the fire. The man, while being handsome in his own right, seemed to have caught the young woman's attention for other reasons. There was warmth, despite her soaked kimono and aching ankle, that she could feel radiating from him and into her. It left her mind feeling hazy and her senses unable to focus on anything but the sensation of her head against the pillow behind her on a piece of Akimira's western-style furniture.

Akimo had completely missed her sister's entrance into the room. She hadn't seen the knowing glance that had passed from the older woman to the kind man, situated on his knees beside whatever manner of cushioned chair that he'd so gently set Akimo's slender figure on. And she most certainly hadn't heard more than a few murmurs of the conversation that passed between the two.

"…_it is just a small sprain…but the fever…"_

"…_certainly…everything is fine now."_

"…_let me know of her condition…"_

"…_of course…stay for tea?"_

"…_couldn't possibly…"_

"_Thank you, thank you."_

"…_send your husband my regards…"_

The last thing the poor girl could remember was feeling a strong hand brush away a few strands of hair from her face and it was the last bit of warmth and electricity that she could feel before drifting into a fitful sleep. Her dreams were littered with the memory of the unkind American soldier with his yellow hair and her heart would race while her palms sweat until the handsome figure of the man who had rescued her earlier that day would save her from the imaginary danger.

She recovered from the fever and her illness quickly, spending not more than three afternoons tucked safely into her own futon. Even despite her mother's worries over the swollen ankle, Akimo was back on her feet and alive with the beauty of spring. There was something about the season that brought her to life, made her refuse to give into any unnecessary illness, because she wanted to be outside, in front of the garden pond, walking among the blooming lilies.

If there was any change in the girl at all after the frightful ordeal, she seemed more reflective if anything else. It seemed as though the experience had been sobering and Akimo had lost a slight bit of her sense of childish security; but she still smiled her brilliant smile and dreamed of the man who had saved her quite often. He was becoming a bit of an obsession and, even as her wedding date drew nearer, Akimo couldn't help but feel as though her heart were betraying her.

Hadn't that man saved her from a rather gruesome fate? She'd read so many of those romantic novels that had belonged to Akira before she ran away with her own American soldier that Akimo almost believed she was wishing her life could turn out something more like the lives of those characters in the books. The man was always supposed to save the woman and then he would wrap her in his arms and carry her away into the sunset where they could live out their own version of happily ever after and until death do us part. Didn't she deserve a man who would love her and fight to keep her safe? Yet, here she was, not more than a week away from her wedding 

to Heihachi Mishima, a man who had showered her in gifts but had shown no interest getting to know her, and Akimo had never been so unsure of anything in her life.

"Do cheer up, darling," her mother reminded, tying the obi around her waist a bit more tightly than Akimo might have liked. She was silent as she made the expert motions of tying the elaborate garment around her daughter. It seemed to take an eternity to dress Akimo in the white garment, but Mrs. Numoya seemed no more distressed by the concentration she needed to complete her task than the sad look on her daughter's face. She placed her hands on Akimo's shoulders and turned her around so that she could see herself in the mirror, "You look absolutely lovely and, with a bit more time dedicated to preparation, I'm sure the shiromaku will fit better."

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Akimo did feel her lips begin to turn upwards just slightly. She was wearing her wedding kimono, a lovely white garment that had taken near the entirety of that morning to dress herself in. But she looked wonderful and, for a brief moment, she wondered what her mysterious savior might have thought of her, so dressed up and beautiful, on their wedding day. Quickly, Akimo buried her thoughts and instead tried to picture what Heihachi Mishima would look like in his montsuki kimono. It was true that she'd never actually seen the man she would be marrying but that wasn't the part of this arrangement that distressed her most. She was in love with the man who had rescued her.

When her mother placed a hand on Akimo's shoulder, the girl's eyes refocused and she was snapped back into reality, "No, mother. It is perfect."

And she tried to offer her a stunning smile. It fell just short of the thousand watt version that she was normally able to muster. But if her mother had noticed, she'd chosen not to say anything; instead she cleared her throat and began to remove the garments from her daughter. Undressing from a wedding kimono was a far easier task than putting it on in the first place. The time that had been required to make sure it was perfect was spent folding each piece neatly and carefully so that it would be perfect for her wedding day.

Before the two women were quite done with what they were doing, a lady-servant opened the door and bowed deeply to them. Her breath was slightly labored, suggesting that she'd hurried to meet them, "Lady and daughter Numoya! There is a visitor downstairs for Lady Akimo. I-it's Heihachi Mishima!"

Blinking dumbly at the statement, Mrs. Numoya dismissed the servant and turned back to her daughter, whose head was turned slightly as she studied her mother. The older woman tugged the remainder of the wedding kimono from her daughter's slender form without a word and quickly shoved her towards the trunk where she kept her finer kimono. The silence between the two women was eating away at Akimo's sanity and it was all the girl to do to bring herself to think of something to say to her mother. She was acting so strangely.

"You knew he was coming, mother," it wasn't a question or even an accusation. The words were calm, perhaps she'd been trying to hide her curiosity under a mature tone, and Akimo began to dig through her kimono until she selected one of her favorites. It was white silk with pale green and yellow designs woven throughout and only in certain places and there were blue cranes every now and again. Akimo slid the garment over her shoulders before her mother had even had a chance to respond.

With her hands already busy tying a coral obi around her daughter's waist, Mrs. Numoya smiled despite herself. It wasn't until she'd knotted the bow in the back and pinned all of the loose edges that she spoke, "Of course, darling. He's been wishing to pay you a visit since he heard of the accident. Such a kind man is Heihachi Mishima!"

Even before Akimo could formulate her new thoughts into verbalized questions, her mother was already hurrying her towards the hallway. It wasn't that Akimo was excited, exactly, that made her walk as quickly as she was. In fact, there was a sense of dread that hung over her like a storm cloud she just couldn't lose, even when she would step into the occasional beam of sunlight flowing through the windows from outside. Akimo was curious, just as any in her position would have been, but mostly, seeing her husband for the first time would allow her the ability to forget about her savior in all of the fantasies and replace him with the real figure of her husband.

Taking a deep breath and making sure to straighten herself to the strict form of 'presentability' her father demanded, Akimo smoothed down the lines of her kimono, ran a few fingers absently through her dark hair, and pinched her cheeks to add a lovely rosy hue to them.

The man was in the main sitting room with her father; Akimo could hear their voices trailing down the hallway. But they were muffled echoing just slightly enough that it prevented Akimo from really making out the specific tones of each man's voice; recognition became impossible. The man of interest's back was turned towards her when she'd crossed the threshold of the doorway and, even as she bowed to enter, she couldn't determine what she had noticed more, his expensive-looking western-style suit or the broad line of his shoulders beneath it.

When she looked up again, her eyes were met with familiar chocolate brown orbs that were as friendly as she could have ever known before. And the face was familiar, identical to one she had been dreaming about, with a strong jaw line, deep set eyes, and high cheek bones. His hair, a dark raven color that was more deep than midnight itself, was spiked away from his head, coming to near a point in the back.

Akimo had recognized him almost instantly.

She hadn't been expecting her heart to beat so furiously that it was as though the muscle might leave her chest. She hadn't planned on needing to stifle butterflies from flying around her stomach. Akimo hadn't expected him; but it would have been so far beyond a lie to say that she wasn't pleased by what she saw.

"Good Afternoon, Miss Akimo," he greeted her politely, taking her hand in his own and kissing the top gently.

Akimo's knees almost gave out.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a gasp. "T-thank you, Mr. Mishima…for saving me the other day."

His eyes met hers and her stomach did a turn at the speed of an Olympic swimmer.

"I'm glad to find you feeling better," he leaned forward, making to pour her a glass of the tea that had been brought for her. As he handed her the steaming glass, he added, "You had me rather worried."

Her heart sank like lead.

Akimo's face reddened and she suddenly felt uncharacteristically small; like a child who had done something wrong. Her eyes scanned the table in front of her as her hands rested against the warm glass surface of the teacup, "I offer you my most sincere apologies, Mr. Mishima. I never meant to cause you any worry."

"Oh, cheer up!" he smiled as he said it but it wasn't until he gently brought a hand to her cheek to lead her gaze up to his that she noticed the gesture. Turning so that he could see her better, he spoke again, "How about one of those pretty smiles instead?"

And Akimo did smile. It was a beautiful smile. The first of many more; because Akimo had found him, the same man who had saved her from the soldier, her samurai knight, her hero.

For the rest of the afternoon, it was as though the smile never left Akimo's face.


End file.
